by Geoffrey Weed
In the near-blackness of the hot, close summer night, a dim red light was slowly blinking on and off. Although he didn't know how, John could sense a lurking presence. Something was watching from the shadows and whatever it was, it radiated a palpable, horrible, insidious form of intent. In a cold, stark manner the presence contemplated him in the same way that a perverse young boy with a magnifying glass might contemplate an ant he was about to burn to death for his own amusement. The light continued to blink and blink, smugly, as if wishing to inform him that it already knew about the horrible fate in store for him. The light continued to blink and blink, blink and blink, even long after John's heart had stopped beating.
Geoffrey Weed is a freelance writer from Metropolitan Detroit. He holds a bachelor's degree in English from Western Michigan University.